


Pretty Punny

by Axolotl7



Series: Fluffy one-shots - Six Months May was "Away" from Shield [6]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bad Puns, Fluff, Gen, Sunday Lunch, Team Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4979206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axolotl7/pseuds/Axolotl7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Phil's not making bad jokes about his hand situation then something's wrong.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>“Phil, would you give me a hand?” that’s all she asks, she swears it, but the silence that immediately descends over the group makes her wonder for a moment if she’s said it in Cantonese instead.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Punny

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah this happened in a random moment.
> 
> There are far too many hand/arm puns to be made. 
> 
> I'm certain that there are many many more that I've missed.
> 
>  
> 
> Hope every sees the humour I found in it and that it doesn't offend anyone to be treating it so flippantly...

“Phil, would you give me a hand?” that’s all she asks, she swears it, but the silence that immediately descends over the group makes her wonder for a moment if she’s said it in Cantonese instead.

She’s no particular time to worry about it as she stands with her back to the room, facing the kitchen stove where she’s trying to both mash the potatoes and prevent the vegetables from boiling over, whilst getting a little bit concerned about the burning smell starting to rise from the oven below that could very well be either the beef starting to ruin or the Yorkshire puddings going up in smoke. Who the hell thought it would be a good idea to cook Jemma a truly English Sunday roast?!

Oh yeah… it was her.

Still…

“Phil,” she snaps over a shoulder. “A hand. _Please!_ ” 

This time there’s an almost dramatic inhale – it can only be Skye- _Daisy_!

She deliberately ignores it. She’s never let concern of other’s potential criticism from doing what she needs to do before and she’s not going to stop now. If Phil's not making bad jokes about his hand then something's wrong with the world. She hears his light footsteps as he comes up to the counter beside her.

“Lend me a hand?” she asks without meeting his eyes.

“I know what you’re doing,” is all he says, taking over stirring the boiling vegetables as he easily shifts them across to a cooler ring to avoid the bubbles boiling over the top.

“It’s rare that the left hand doesn’t know what the right hand’s doing,” she quips for his ears only.

“Maaay,” he says firmly. Firmly enough that she’s tempted to stop what she’s planning. But no, ignoring the issue won’t help anyone. Far better to get it all out there. Phil without jokes is like … well like an arm without a hand.

“Don’t bite the hand that’s about to feed you,” she warns, confirming quite clearly that yes she is going to continue with this course of action irrespective of his warning so he may as well get on board.

He seems to consider his options for a moment. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if he doesn’t decide to play along. She’s not sure their already strained friendship could cope if he decided to walk away.

“You’re a dab hand at that,” he eventually says. It’s resigned as though he’s unsure whether he actually wants to say anything at all. She still smiles inside – he’s not left… er gone!

“That’s the best you got?” she goads him. “No, ‘I appear to know this like the back of my hand’ or ‘how good I am without my right hand man’? You’re slipping, Phil. It’s like fighting against the unarmed,” she smiles bending down to open the oven and immediately stepping back away from the plumes of choking smoke that erupt. 

“Let me give you a hand with that,” he says quickly grabbing for the hot tray before she can get it with the tea towel.

“Phil, NO THAT’S-!”

“Hot?” he says drawing the tray out of the oven with his left hand and a smile.

“Handy,” she smiles back panic just about contained.

“You’re in safe hands,” he replies. 

“My hand-some saviour,” she smirks back at him quietly.

“Can you hand-le the truth? Cos I think the puddings might be a little blackened…” he says with a smile gesturing at the tray, finally getting into the rhythm of things again. It’s good to see him smile. He’s barely cracked one since she arrived back a few hours ago and that… well that’s just not Phillip J Coulson. They chopped off his hand not his sense of humour!

“You know first hand that I can handle just about anything you can throw at me.”

“Your hands are full or I’d hand this over,” he says gesturing at her with the still smoking tray of Yorkshire puddings. They’ve seen better days. They actually looked better uncooked.

“We don’t have to have them I suppose…” she says although to be honest she is a little disappointed. After all who gets pudding that looks like that and can be eaten with meet and ‘gravy’ as a main meal.

“Noooooo,” the mournful if almost silent wail interrupts their bantering. They both drop what they’re doing, spinning in concern to face Jemma. “I’m sorry,” she whispers and appears to shrink down physically in an attempt to evade notice as she’s suddenly the centre of everyone’s attention.

“What she means is,” Fitz has seemingly gotten used to explaining for Simmons, it’s a saddening flip of their roles from last year, “that you _have_ to have the Yorkshires with the meal or it’s just not a proper Sunday lunch. Even if they’re burnt or undercooked or inedible or they’ve fallen on the floor - there simply is no good excuse for not eating the Yorkshire puddings with Sunday lunch if you’re from Sheffield. You simply can’t call it Sunday lunch if you don’t.”

“Well it’s Tuesday and it’s more dinner time than lunch so maybe we don’t have to eat the pudding with our meat?” Skye interrupts seemingly eager not to try pudding and gravy.

“It’s a Sheffield thing, love,” Hunter explains, “You’re not gonna change it. Sunday lunch can and will be eaten whenever anyone fancies it.”

"I still don't think pudding-"

“We are having Sunday lunch, that’s the end of it,” May declares with finality. Simmons wants Sunday lunch with… moderately charred Yorkshire puddings then that’s what they’ll attempt to cook for her.

“Little heavy handed,” Phil re-starts them and they both turn their backs on the team to rescue the cooking and the teasing banter that she’s missed for the last six months away from him.

“Sometimes you’ve got to force their hands,” she smiles back.

“You like to get your hands dirty. With a guiding hand, you could almost become old hand at this. Quit SHIELD and you could start up a venture making money hand over fist. Of course you’d need more hands on experience, we couldn’t just hand it to you on a platter.”

“Don’t overplay your hand too early, Phil,” she mock cautions, moving to drain the veg over the sink, but secretly grinning on the inside. This is the adorkable Phil she remembers.

“I’m not ready to throw my hands up just yet. 

"Although I was stumped for a moment, it’s just taken me a few licks of a finger to get to grips with it. 

"Springing this as a surprise on me to try to get the upper hand was a little underhanded you have to admit. Armiturish, you might say! This could’ve easily gotten out of hand given the potential for alarm. 

"But I’m going to go out on a limb. I’ll take you on single handed. You’ve given me a free hand. I’m keeping nothing up my sleeve. 

"With one hand tied behind my back I’m practically armless. 

"It’s a good job I only lost my left, it’s left me all right. 

"I used to be armed and dangerous, now I’m just... dangerous,” he finishes with a smirk as he tips the tray and tries to wiggle, nudge and generally encourage the Yorkshire puddings to unstick and tumble into the large serving bowl.

“I gotta hand it to you, that was a lot of hand puns to take in all at once,” she confirms mock seriously.

“You can’t count them on one hand that’s for sure. You could almost say that I won hands down?” he pushes, bumping his hip into hers to nudge her off balance slightly. She hip bumps him back with a smile.

“I’ll put my hands together for you this once but then I wash my hands of all of your foolish puns,” she finishes, grinning at his light-hearted expression, scraping the last of the mash into a bowl and turning to deliver it to the table where the rest all still sit in cautious silence watching the two of them play this out.

 

Phil catches her with a meaningful look as they pass and he brings out the scorched Yorkshire puddings, she knows then that this was good for him, necessary even to unload a little of that tension he’s been carrying. She’s no doubt that they’ve still a long way to go but the more comfortable he is joking about this with them, with his team, the easier a road it’ll be. They can’t just sit in silence afraid to speak about it.

As he approaches the table the team suddenly all find the table top interesting in a manner that beggars belief. He speaks: “Show of hands, who wants a burnt Yorkshire pudding?”

Silence. Gobsmacked silence.

“Erm…” Skye starts but hesitates to say what she’s planning. It as though she’s afraid that their joking doesn’t actually extend to the rest of the team.

 _Say it_. She wills her to do so. If anyone will, it’ll be Skye. _Come on, Skye. Just say it._

“Er… hand one over this way?”

Skye eventually says with a cringe.

Phil tosses one straight at her head, making her flinch but also look up to meet his smiling eyes. The nervous laughter that follows starts off slightly forced but soon swells into the true joy of relaxed laughter between friends. A release of tension that they didn’t know they needed.

They’ve a long long way to go but at least they’re taking the first steps… 

(she can’t even believe she’s thinking it!)

 

… hand in hand?

**Author's Note:**

> I love hearing from anyone who's reading.
> 
>  
> 
> especially if you've any more bad puns that I've missed!


End file.
